02-19-2018, 06:24 PM
Oriena slinked away, leaving him alone with Mikhail who, thankfully, seemed to be willing to entertain himself with his own social circle. Aside from a few off-hand comments to the air; things like the Syndicate didn't much matter to himself.
His attention seemed fixed on one of the televisions. Standard sports highlights, interviews of soccer...football...whatever, players. Readying for the pre-season games. Not that he much cared about that either. It was just a place to center his apparent focus on. A person could see a lot with their peripheral vision, hear a lot with their head turned just right.
A mental image of the room, the various social circles, movements of individuals. Reading a room was important, and always needed practicing. Who was talking to whom, how did the groups interact (or not, in some cases). How'd the staff act, or react, to what was going on around them.
It all pointed to some stupid shit he wasn't interested in getting involved in. Mikhail demonstrated some social graces with his own friends, at least when he wasn't trying to impress Oriena.
She was one he didn't have much of a read on, other then that she was clearly a spider, or maybe a cat? that liked to toy with those around her. And wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty, judging by the scuffs she was sporting. And for the fact that she must have been the number two involved in the Baccarat fire. He was almost curious to learn just what she was planning for him. Might be entertaining.
If someone like her and, he was fairly fucking confident, Jaxen, could take the Atherim down a few rungs, it was just more evidence that they were exactly the self-important half-ass'd faction of crazy cultists that he had pegged them as. Thought they were chosen by whatever the fuck deity they followed to kill folks like Jaxen, only to let him walk in and burn their house down. Should have stuck to with monsters, clearly.
A final sip of his beer and he set the empty bottle on the table, next to the one Mikhail had ordered for him. He eyed the bottle a moment, a simple change of posture which led him study the idiots at the pool table while listening to what few snippets could almost be heard from scar-face and the Asian woman.
He had no interest in their conversation, which was just as well since he couldn't really hear it from where he sat; it was simple an opportunity to practice active listening and memorization techniques. A few words gleaned, physical mannerisms of the pool-players compiled, he took up the bottle with a nod to Mikhail then returned his gaze to the television.
His attention seemed fixed on one of the televisions. Standard sports highlights, interviews of soccer...football...whatever, players. Readying for the pre-season games. Not that he much cared about that either. It was just a place to center his apparent focus on. A person could see a lot with their peripheral vision, hear a lot with their head turned just right.
A mental image of the room, the various social circles, movements of individuals. Reading a room was important, and always needed practicing. Who was talking to whom, how did the groups interact (or not, in some cases). How'd the staff act, or react, to what was going on around them.
It all pointed to some stupid shit he wasn't interested in getting involved in. Mikhail demonstrated some social graces with his own friends, at least when he wasn't trying to impress Oriena.
She was one he didn't have much of a read on, other then that she was clearly a spider, or maybe a cat? that liked to toy with those around her. And wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty, judging by the scuffs she was sporting. And for the fact that she must have been the number two involved in the Baccarat fire. He was almost curious to learn just what she was planning for him. Might be entertaining.
If someone like her and, he was fairly fucking confident, Jaxen, could take the Atherim down a few rungs, it was just more evidence that they were exactly the self-important half-ass'd faction of crazy cultists that he had pegged them as. Thought they were chosen by whatever the fuck deity they followed to kill folks like Jaxen, only to let him walk in and burn their house down. Should have stuck to with monsters, clearly.
A final sip of his beer and he set the empty bottle on the table, next to the one Mikhail had ordered for him. He eyed the bottle a moment, a simple change of posture which led him study the idiots at the pool table while listening to what few snippets could almost be heard from scar-face and the Asian woman.
He had no interest in their conversation, which was just as well since he couldn't really hear it from where he sat; it was simple an opportunity to practice active listening and memorization techniques. A few words gleaned, physical mannerisms of the pool-players compiled, he took up the bottle with a nod to Mikhail then returned his gaze to the television.